That Cold Winter Night
by ForestRunner
Summary: Ilia sits at her mother's grave. Bo comes to comfort her. /T for a not-so kid friendly flashback/


**I got inspired to write something sad, so I stopped writing the one-shots I was writing and wrote this. And, well, this'll probably be one of the shortest things I ever write that isn't like a drabble(500words or under). Shame on FF for not having majority of Ordon(Bo, Uli, Pergie, Jaggle, Hanch, Sera, Link the Cat, and Rusl and Uli's Daughter) as character choices. I want to write fanfics for most of them... :P**

**I highly suggest opening another tab and listening to "Clannad Snowfield" as you read this. A good one when conversation starts would be "Clannad Nagisa Theme". I have an odd habit of using he/she until a character speaks someone's name, I'm beginning to notice... ****I hope you enjoy!**

_**Disclaimer: Nintendo owns the Legend of Zelda series, and they're the ones making money from it. I do not own it, nore do I get any profit from this. Boohoo for me, yay for Nintendo ;)**_

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The snow fell softly, flakes gracefully hovering in the still air. Clouds, thick and bulgy, engulfed the sky with monotone balance. Everything was dark, not one thing was lively. A pair of green eyes stared at a mound of soil, unblinking. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a bun, leaving only the shortest strands as her bangs. She waited as a statue, sitting on her knees. The world was silent, holding in a deep breath, waiting with her. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. Animals should be running amok and the sun should be shining and time should be moving by so fast, but none of that could happen. Not anymore.

The child tugged at her dress, pulling it out from under her knees. Her mother had made it, and she couldn't bear the thought of getting it dirty when it was hardly worn to begin with. She swallowed, the action triggering an ichy ache long forgotten in her thoat. It started with one miniscule cough, then another slightly louder, and another until her coughs were harsh and nerve wracking to her brain. Her hands met the gound, catching her falling body. The world spun as she tried to regain control of herself. After one last painful cough, she groaned. Her whole body hurt, from her chest agonizingly aching to her head throbbingly light. She had come here with only her dress on. No warm gloves or a jacket, not even shoes were there to offer warmth. Her fingers, clutching the weeds breaking through the layer of snow, were growing numb. She ignored all of it as her throat tightened, holding back a wail. Her lips quivered, her eyes tinted red by tears. She couldn't hold it in anymore.

The tears fell, and she let her body fall into the soft mound of snow beneath her as she cried. She hiccuped between sobs, gasping for breath quickly lost, unable to let out so much air to satisfy her weeping heart. She reached forward for something she'd never see, grasping thin air and starting her crying anew in the knowledge that what she had looked for wasn't there. What she needed right now usually was when she cried.

"Don't cry," she heard, and she looked up. She tried opening her eyes, the unforgivingly cold air stinging them and forcing her to shut them again. Her sobs turned soley to hiccups. A thick, strong hand stroked her forehead. Only one person she knew did that to her. Recognizing the adult here, she pushed herself to a sitting position and flung herself into his arms while crying out, "Daddy!" He didn't smile when his child came to him, but instead stared at the baleful mound of soil in front of them. It was shaped into a perfect rectangle.

"Daddy, you said mommy was here," his child said, her voice muffled into his shirt. He nodded, hiding an inner gulp as he looked in grief at the soil. His eyes slowly and robotically crawled down to his daughter. She had buried herself into his hold, her glistening eyes looking up at him barely noticeable. She asked, "If mommy's here, why can't I see her?" The dreaded question he never wanted to answer.

"Ilia...your mother..." Bo was at a loss for words. His mind, foggy from unfinished mourning, reached frantically for any word that seemed sensible to say. "She..isn't..." What was appropriate for this child, this seven year old? A clump of snow on a branch fell, landing abruptly atop the gravestone. He let out a shakey breath. His lungs were dead weight, heavy and almost impossible to breath with. A chill streamed down his arms as he murmured, "She isn't coming back, Ilia. You can't see her, I can't see her. She's gone." He expected her to start cying again, or say she missed her. Anything at all would have been better then what she asked next.

"Why did she leave?"

"She didn't want to leave, Ilia," Bo said, holding his daughter close. He wiped the melting snow off her dress, out of her hair. Had he told her this right when he saw his wife's limp body, he wouldn't know if he was lying to her or not. Back then, his heart had told him someone had performed the dark deed, but his mind and many other's minds said slit wrists were suicide. It wasn't until further investigation that they had found other wounds hidden underneath a dress. The real clothing worn during the crime was torn, bloody, and hidden in the back of the closet. Bo bit his tongue, mentally cursing himself for working overtime that night. Bloody hell to it all, the murderer was still out in the woods! It was then he remembered his defenseless daughter, his Ilia, was still with him.

"Ilia... You know your mother was a strong, virtuous woman. She was stubborn as well, and had one sour temper should anyone oppose her or her family."

He liked to believe she died protecting Ilia.

"She was kind beyond what I thought possible. Even her anger spoke with love and care."

He liked to imagine she was still here, invisible but with them.

"As you grow older...you will forget things about her."

He liked to dream that they were still a happy family, however much it hurt to wake and face the harsh reality of the empty space next to him in bed.

"But there are things about her that you will never forget. Do not worry if a memory or two fades."

He could see her tears coming again, her nose red. Don't cry. He crestfallenly saw her gulp, as if her throat was threatening to choke her. The quivering lip. A single tear strolled down her frozen cheek, followed by another, and another, until she couldn't help but sob. She gradually reached up, grabbing her father's arm. "Daddy. You're crying. Please don't," she said, forcing herself to swallow. Bo didn't even realize he was, but now that it was said it was obvious. He felt his shoulders shaking, his chest clapsed and burning, his hands holding his daughter tighter than before.

The swallow had reinforced Ilia's itchy throat, and she coughed. Her violent coughs came much quicker this time, striking a fearful chord in Bo. She had been sick this whole time. He had been so engulfed in his anguish that he was oblivious to it. He said, "Come, my daughter. It's time we get you indoors." He picked Ilia up, carrying her away from the grave of his wife, her mother. The world felt colder than before.


End file.
